


Dating Wrong

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Awkward Dates, Dating, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Feelings, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "It's just—what is the logic of dating?"Amusement flashed across Pike's face, though he quickly shuttered it. "One, I don't think logic is the point for most people. And two, you need to define your terms. Euphemistic uses of 'dating' cover a multitude of sins," he said in a voice that made Michael think he knew every single one and wouldn't she like to try them.No. No, she wouldnot, she firmly reminded herself.





	Dating Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This story stems from my conviction that a human raised on Vulcan would be emotionally _messed up_...and also my curiosity about how many emotional miscommunications that could cause. (Spoiler: all of them. ALL the miscommunications.) Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1021374.html).

"Oh, hey Burnham," Ensign Saito greeted, collecting his own meal from the replicator as she grabbed hers. 

She nodded to him. "Saito."

"I hear Engineering is having an immersive viewing of the Big Bang simulation tomorrow night. I was thinking of going. Wanna come?"

Michael shrugged. "I'm helping Stamets with spore drive maintenance, but enjoy yourself." She nodded, friendly, then took her tray to an empty table where she could review the incoming maintenance inventories on her PADD.

A few moments later, the sound of urgent footsteps got her attention. Michael looked up just as Tilly sat down. She opened her mouth to say hello, but Tilly beat her to it: "Did you just turn down Saito?"

Michael stilled and tried to process that. "...no?" 

Tilly narrowed her eyes. "He asked you to the show, right?"

"He said he was going and invited me to come along, but I told him I have maintenance work with Stamets," Michael replied dutifully, mentally going through that conversation again, not understanding why Tilly cared. 

Tilly dropped her forehead to the table. "Oh, my god," she said to its gray surface.

"Tilly, are you okay? Do you need medical attention?" 

Michael reached out to grasp her shoulder, worried, but Tilly sat up straight before she could. She grabbed Michael's hand and clasped it with both of her own, looking to her with pleading eyes. "Michael, I need you to hear me right now: he was asking you out."

Michael blinked and pulled her hand back. "Like...on a date?"

"Yes, exactly like on a date."

"He didn't state that explicitly," Michael protested. She was sure of it. She would have registered it if those intentions had been made clear, not least because she'd never considered any romantic pursuits with him and she would've needed to think about it. 

Tilly's expression went exasperated. "No one ever states it explicitly at first. That way you can save face. And now that hotass of a man thinks you don't like him."

"I don't _dis_ like him," Michael said, defensive. "From what I've heard, he's a fine ensign with a solid, if unremarkable record."

"Okay, again, not talking about work right now. I'm talking about the 'wanna go three rounds of bedroom gymnastics with him' kinda like."

"...oh." Michael swallowed, shifting in her seat. _Did_ she like Saito? Michael shook her head, a little at a loss. "I don't _know_ him."

"And that's why he was asking you out," Tilly insisted, like the circular-ness of this conversation was maddening even to her. 

"But accepting a date on its face implies romantic interest. How are you supposed to gauge that if you've barely even spoken to someone? Are you making that determination purely based on their appearance?"

Tilly stared at her. " _Yes_ ," she said, like this was obvious. "I can't tell you how many people I've gone out with because I thought they'd look good between my thighs. That's what people _do_."

Michael flushed and looked away. "Ah." That was...something. She considered the implications. "Actually, that makes some people's incompatible romantic couplings more understandable. If they're deriving some base sexual gratification out of it, I suppose it's less of a waste of time than I assumed."

Tilly stared some more. Michael shook her head. "What?"

"Right." Tilly folded her hands together and straightened. "So I've been doing a little reading on Vulcan culture and while it's all supremely logical and overachieving, it's also _incredibly messed up_ for humans. Please tell me your mom didn't raise you to be that repressed."

Michael stiffened. "Amanda raised Spock and I in the Vulcan tradition, though she did supplement with some human cultural experiences."

Tilly looked hopeful. "So open discussion of feelings? Normal adolescent behavioral development? Puppy love?"

Michael tilted her head. "Does _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ count?"

Tilly looked at her, aghast. "Okay, let's try this another way. Complete romantic and sexual history, go," she ordered, gesturing for Michael to share. 

Michael flushed again. "Tilly."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'd remember if we had sex." Michael shot her an unimpressed look, but Tilly was determined. "C'mon, you don't have to give me names, but number of partners, breadth of experience, let's go."

Michael sat back. "That's private."

Tilly shook her head at herself, like she'd been given new information. "I should have paid more attention. You totally dodged me when I asked about your previous boyfriends during all the stuff with Ash." Her expression went vaguely horrified. "You've slept with more people than just Ash, right?" 

"Yes," Michael said, defensive. She hated this conversation. Could they stop having this conversation?

"Well, that's something, I guess." Tilly concentrated, thinking something through. "Okay, this has all been enlightening and I know how to fix it." 

"There's no...problem?" Michael asked. She hadn't caught up to the point of this conversation and she hated that _even more than the conversation_. 

Michael wasn't used to being the slow one. 

Tilly frowned at her. "Considering you just turned down a beautiful, really quite flexible man and didn't even realize it, I'm thinking there is."

That detail sparked something in Michael, a dark suspicion forming. "Tilly...have you—have you _been_ with Saito?"

"What? Oh, yeah, we had a thing last year. Didn't work out, but he's a great distraction. A+, would recommend." She shrugged it off, like a game of musical bed partners was no big deal. 

Michael was faintly amazed, but then again, in a closed system like a ship, it probably _was_ no big deal. It was probably _normal_. And Michael was the odd one out for not being a part of it...or even noticing all that much.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Tilly continued, oblivious to Michael's thoughts. "I'm going to set you up on some dates. And to be clear: these are romantic dates, opportunities for you to please go get laid already."

"Your fix is to get me to have sex," Michael surmised. "What's the problem again?"

"You've been criminally unprepared for a social life among humans and that ends today. You, Michael Burnham, need to learn how to date. So I'm activating my wing-woman powers and making that happen." She smiled, reassuring. "Don't worry. It's gonna be great."

***

"Tilly, no," Michael said again, standing in her bra and panties, hands on her hips. 

"Tilly, yes," Tilly shot back, tossing the dress at Michael so she _had_ to catch it. "You use your uniform like armor. The point is to open yourself up."

"I can't do that wearing pants?"

"Embrace your hotness, Michael," Tilly said, shaking out another dress, holding it up to Michael's figure, and discarding it. 

Michael sighed and looked at the filmy material in her hand. Well, at least it was black and didn't seem as skimpy as the last one she'd rejected.

***

Specialist Webber swept his brown eyes down her form again, tracing the dress as it clung to her curves, hitting just above the knee. "That is a great dress," he repeated for the third time. 

Michael smiled, tight. "Thanks. What were you saying about mycelial farming conditions?" 

That launched him into an amusing tale of Stamets-the-mushroom-fetishist that Michael knew was over the top, but made her smile. He followed it up with wry commentary on the long-running rivalry between Engineering 'shroomers and non-shroomers, as he put it. 

Michael didn't think he meant it in the psychoactive drug sense...but she wasn't entirely sure. She decided not to pursue it since it probably wasn't a real thing anyway. 

But she...enjoyed herself. As Webber walked her back to her quarters, she reflected...maybe Tilly was right. The truth was, she didn't open herself up much and that might be keeping her from valuable experiences.

Michael spotted her door, then turned to Webber with a smile. "I had fun."

"The fun doesn't have to end here," he said, pressing her back against the corridor wall and covering her mouth with his. His kiss was firm and sure, his hands dropping onto her hips and squeezing. 

A chill swept through Michael. She broke the kiss, angling herself out from beneath him. "Ahh, I don't—"

"Come on," he wheedled, trying to lean in and kiss her again.

Michael dodged him, slipping out from his hold. "Fun's over. Have a good night," she said, tone emphasizing the finality of it, all the good feelings from earlier gone, recontextualized with this new information. 

She left him outside, mouth open in surprise, as she strode through her door.

Tilly looked up at her entrance, taking in her disheveled expression with a smirk. "Good night?"

"He just wants to have sex with me," Michael said, kicking off her shoes. 

Tilly furrowed her brow. "Yes? Yes. That is literally the point of dating: to find someone you want to have sex with."

Michael frowned. "But if you're not compatible then it's just a waste of time, aside from some transitory pleasure." 

"Orgasms are never a waste of time," Tilly corrected. "It's okay to just enjoy yourself, you know. Not everything has to have some grand meaning in the scheme of life."

Michael frowned some more. Intellectually she understood that, but trying to apply it to her life—imagining letting Webber touch her—just inspired an endless well of _no_. "I won't be enjoying anything with Webber," Michael informed her. 

Tilly blinked at the firmness of that. "All righty, then. But hey, think of it this way—everybody's been on bad dates. That's part of the experience. We just have to try again." 

Michael thought about it, trying to recapture that feeling from before Webber decided to get grabby. This was a learning experience. Everyone else had already done this; she was just...catching up. And once she did, everything would be easier. 

Besides, she could find refuge in work until she got comfortable with the personal stuff. She always had work. 

"Sure. We'll try again," Michael agreed. 

***

Michael carried her PADD into the ready room, looking forward to Pike's inevitable long-suffering look when he realized what this meeting entailed...and then her steps faltered. 

Pike was mid-call with an older woman, the holographic display giving her that ghostly appearance he so disliked. She wore casual clothes, suitable for light outdoor work—gardening, maybe—and her gray hair was immaculately styled. She was also looking at Pike like he was a naughty schoolchild. 

"That's an evasion, Christopher, and you know it," she said, frowning at him in a way that was exasperated, but affectionate. 

Michael hesitated. Should she come back another time?

Pike looked up and waved her over. "It's fine, Michael, come in." He addressed the older woman again. "Mom, I have work to do."

Michael suppressed a smile at his matching exasperated expression, something he clearly got from her. She was having none of it, however, gesturing over to Michael. 

"This is what I'm saying. You're surrounded by beautiful women and you can't find one to marry you?" Pike's mother turned to Michael in frank appraisal. "Does my son have some communicable disease he's too embarrassed to tell me about? Is that what's keeping everyone away?"

"Your son could have anyone he wanted," Michael replied, genuine. A captain who looked like _that_ , someone honorable, respected, charming; he was the full package, as Tilly would say. 

Not that Michael had thought about this. 

Pike's jaw tensed, but it was gone almost instantly. He looked to her, voice light: "Whose side are you on?"

"Forgive me, sir, did you think it would be yours?"

Pike's mother nodded in approval. "I like you. What's your name?"

"Michael Burnham, ma'am."

"Karen Pike, it's lovely to meet you. Keep up the good work kicking my son in the behind. Number One tells me she's not around to do it right now and clearly, he needs it."

"Now I'm just getting ganged up on," Pike complained, but his little smile betrayed him.

Karen's expression softened as she took in the son she clearly loved. "Get some rest, sweetheart."

"I'll call you tomorrow. Love you," he said. 

"Love you most," she returned, signing off, the holographic display disappearing. 

Pike regarded Michael steadily. "I feel like I lost some of my captain's mystique just now."

"You thought you had mystique, sir?" Michael asked with a smile. 

"Well, that's gonna stay with me." He shook his head. "Sorry, she and I keep missing each other. I thought I could squeeze it in."

"It's no problem. Your mother seems proud of you. You can hear it in her voice. Her son, the Federation captain."

"She'd be prouder of grandchildren."

"Well, why choose just one?"

"Now you sound just like her," he grumbled. 

Michael smiled. "I take that as a compliment."

Pike smiled a little, like he couldn't help it, then pushed it aside, expression turning professional. "Well, Commander. What do you got?"

Michael held out the PADD, smiling for a different reason now. "Your favorite: repair inventories."

***

"I mean, why should I have to check the drydock hardpoint? That's Larani's job. But now I get assigned to it? It's punishment, I'm telling you," Specialist Evans insisted, smacking a half-unsteady hand onto the bar. He'd had a couple more drinks than Michael and it showed. 

Michael shook her head, toying with her drink, but not actually drinking it. "It's important that multiple crewmen are cross-trained on all systems. Perhaps the Chief wanted to give you extra experience."

When she looked back to Evans his eyes...were not on her face.

Michael shifted, crossing an arm over her chest, obscuring his view. The maroon dress she wore showed a hint of cleavage, but she hadn't thought it was anything scandalous. Still Evans' eyes had been straying all night. 

"Evans?" she prompted. 

He startled, gaze snapping up to hers. "Sorry, what was that?"

Michael sighed. 

***

She sighed again as she pulled off her heels in the turbolift, on her way back to her quarters. Her aching feet were so grateful she didn't even care how this might look to anyone walking in. Heels were monstrous. 

She'd left Evans at the bar, still rambling about 'punitive measures.' The night had been another failure, though less physically intrusive this time. She didn't know what she was going to tell Tilly. 

No, strike that. She _absolutely_ knew what she was going to tell Tilly: the heels could go out an airlock for all she cared, but they'd never go on her feet again. 

The turbolift slowed to pick up another passenger, the doors opening—

And Pike blinked at her, something startled around his eyes. He quickly hid it, though Michael didn't miss how his gaze darted down her dress to her bare feet, clocking the heels in her hand. 

"Long night?" Pike asked, dry, as he joined her in the turbolift and indicated the floor to his quarters. 

"Any time spent wearing these torture instruments is too long," Michal replied, lifting the heels. 

"Dare I ask?" Pike murmured, giving her an opening, but also the option to keep her own counsel. Part of Michael knew discretion was the smarter choice, that she shouldn't be involving the captain in her personal life—in _any way_ , she firmly reminded herself. 

The other part recognized him to be a supportive, good man, whose judgment she trusted. And she could use some of that right now. 

"It's just—what is the logic of dating?"

Amusement flashed across Pike's face, though he quickly shuttered it. "One, I don't think logic is the point for most people. And two, you need to define your terms. Euphemistic uses of 'dating' cover a multitude of sins," he said in a voice that made Michael think he knew every single one and wouldn't she like to try them. 

No. No, she would _not_ , she firmly reminded herself. 

She was doing a lot of firmly reminding herself these days. Webber and Evans had barely even registered beyond 'attractive human male,' but give her this man's voice and she was ready to—

Michael shut that thought down. No use going there. 

She swallowed, admitting: "Tilly says I need to date. That I...missed out on some things because of my upbringing on Vulcan and that's why I sometimes have trouble—" Michael broke off, not wanting to go down that road. "It's not going very well."

The turbolift slowed to a halt, opening on the captain's floor. "Computer, hold," Pike said, pausing the turbolift to look at her, eyes full of compassion. "This seems like a longer conversation, and it's one I'm happy to get into, but only if you want to, Commander."

He was giving her the choice, Michael realized. Not for a casual chat, but a real conversation. 

Of course he was.

"I'd appreciate your counsel," she said, lifting her chin. 

Pike nodded down the corridor. "Then let's go."

He walked off the turbolift, Michael following, and while it felt weird to be going to the captain's quarters with him, it was only because of the dress fluttering around her thighs with every step she took, her feet bare against the deck. Being with him was...reassuring. 

The doors opened for him and Pike led the way into his quarters, gesturing expansively. "Make yourself at home."

Michael set her shoes down and perched on one of the light green couches, studying the room. She'd never been here before, but she couldn't imagine the décor was to Lorca's taste—a cluster of comfortable green couches and chairs, a meal table with seating for four, his desk and work area, plus a separate bedroom and bathroom. Michael dug her feet into one of the nubby rugs scattered around, taking in the bronze accent pieces, everything done in neutral earth tones, like a little...haven. He must have spent time redecorating, specifically to create that for himself. It was...endearing.

Pike returned with two mugs, handing one over before he relaxed on the other side of the couch. "When I was a kid, my mom would always say that no problem was too big if you just committed the time to reflect on it."

"She seems wise." Michael sniffed at her drink, smiling as she looked back at Pike. "Hot chocolate?"

"Another gift from Mom. There's some booze around here if you want to spike it," he offered, taking a sip of his own. 

"No, thank you, sir, I'm fine," Michael said, amused. 

"I think you can call me Chris when we're off duty," he drawled, eyes sparkling. Michael tested it in her head— _Chris_. It was so...personal. She didn't know if she was ready to let him be that personal in her head. Especially given the tenor of her thoughts.

His playfulness faded into something contemplative. "So what's on your mind?"

Michael took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was good, sweet, a hint of cinnamon in it. She imagined Karen mixing it for her son, sending it across the galaxies to him so he'd have a piece of home. A mother's love.

"I don't think I'm cut out for human social interaction," Michael admitted, staring down into her mug.

"Wait, go back to the start. Tilly decided you needed to date more because...why?" He gestured expansively, sprawling back against the corner of the couch, eyes puzzled.

"An ensign asked me out and I turned him down without realizing it."

Pike's look turned speculative. "Was that Saito?"

Michael stared. "How could you possibly—"

Pike smirked. "He's had his eye on you for a while. Then one day he was moping around for no reason. This explains it."

The idea that Pike—Chris—the captain?—had more insight into her personal life than she did made something inside Michael tremble. "Don't you have more important things to focus on?"

"I multitask. Besides, the higher you go, the more you realize that personnel _is_ the most important thing. Who's pissed at who matters more in a firefight than we'd all like to admit."

Michael couldn't exactly argue with that logic. She took another sip of her hot chocolate, not looking at him. "Yes, well. After that Tilly decided I needed some help and set me up on some dates."

"Did you happen to establish your expectations before all this began?" Pike asked mildly. 

Michael's gaze whipped back to him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean defining exactly what you were looking for? A life partner? Some temporary fun? Something in between?"

Michael shifted, just now realizing this was going to end up with the two of them discussing sex. That was...not ideal, especially when he looked at her like _that_ , all warm and supportive. 

"I think she wanted me to have the whole range of social experiences that I didn't get growing up on Vulcan."

"So early-20s bed-hopping, then. _Lord_ ," he said, like even the thought made him tired. 

Michael frowned, not understanding. "Did you not—" She stopped herself—from _asking about his sex life_ , what was _wrong_ with her? "That's completely inappropriate. Forget I asked."

Pike smiled a little, seeming unbothered. "It's fine. And sure, I had my fun. I understand Tilly's intention, but knowing you...I doubt that's the experience you were looking for." 

Michael swallowed, unable to help imagining just what fun he got up to, that younger Pike, all blue-eyed and gangly-limbed and earnest. 

"Unless I'm wrong," he prompted, studying her, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

Her _completely inappropriate_ thoughts. 

"No!" she said, a little too loud. She reined herself in, smiling tightly. "No, the uhh, bed-hopping has not been my highest priority. I think that's been...news to some people." 

Pike's voice went low and knowing: "I can imagine."

Michael tried to ignore the effect that tone had on her. "But Tilly wasn't totally wrong. It's been very...instructive. About how people behave, socially," she clarified. 

"Of course you're treating this like an experiment," he murmured. Then he took another sip of hot chocolate, making a considering noise. "Maybe you should tell Tilly to better prep your dates about what's _not_ on the menu."

Michael turned that over in her mind, considering. "I like defined boundaries."

Pike smiled, wry. "Oh, I'm aware."

***

A resupply layover at Starbase 6 meant a date out on the town, as it were. Michael acquiesced to Tilly's command she dress up, but she stuck with a high-necked, sleeveless dress, the royal blue fabric just skimming her figure. Petty Officer Jansen could stare at her chest if he wanted to, but she didn't need to make it easy for him. 

She didn't know exactly where they were going, so she was surprised when he walked her into a loud, boisterous gambling hall. Michael took in the crowds clustered around various games of chance, their periodic shouts of joy and defeat ringing out, the alcohol flowing. It was all so...irrational. 

But Jansen seemed thrilled by it. "Come on," he said, leading her to a nearby roulette table with a grin. 

"Gambling?" Michael asked, not sure if he was playing some other sort of game with her. 

"Tell me: you feeling lucky?" he said, probably going for seductive there and missing by a parsec or so. 

"No. Nor like a sucker." Off his confusion, she continued: "The house always wins."

Jansen waved that off. "You can beat it in the short term."

Which was how Michael found herself watching him bet on red, win some, then bet red some more. At one point, after accumulating some of his winnings, he turned to her with a grin. "Red's on a roll tonight!"

"Every spin is independent," Michael said obviously. This was basic statistics.

Jansen shrugged that off. "Don't get all statistical on me now, Burnham. Just enjoy the ride." Then he turned back to the table. 

Uh...huh. 

A sudden hush in the crowd caught her attention. Michael looked over, scanning to see what had caused it—

And found Pike wending his way through. Unlike most everyone else, he was in full uniform, not even trying to be anything other than a Starfleet captain. Heads turned to watch his progress, people murmuring amongst themselves, some apprehensive, others nakedly admiring. 

Michael couldn't help but take him in. He did cut quite the figure, even amidst people more dressed up than he. Despite that, she was a little surprised he'd come here; gambling didn't seem like something he'd enjoy. 

But then she realized...he wasn't. He wasn't even paying attention to the gambling. He was headed somewhere else. 

Curious, Michael looked to Jansen: "I'll be back." Jansen nodded, distracted now that red was no longer so lucky. Michael left him to it, trailing behind Pike, who headed into the catacomb of presentation rooms just off the main hall. 

She was too far behind to politely call out, but she saw the room he entered—the last in the corridor—and hurried after to catch him, rounding the doorway—

Only to _freeze_ as gleaming metal caught her eye, the collection of weapons making her heart thud in her chest. There were bat'leths, phasers, disruptors, a mek'leth, and various other swords and bladed weapons all grouped in the center of a small theater in the round.

People milled about, the usual mix of races aboard a Federation starbase, but no one seemed alarmed. And then Michael realized why—

The weapons were altered. The bat'leth had what seemed like...strings connecting it to itself at various points. Other weapons were similarly changed, clearly intentional. 

"Michael," Pike said warmly, materializing from the crowd. His lack of concern eased her pounding heart; if Pike wasn't worried, there was no danger here. 

He took in her dress, lips quirking at the comfy black boots she wore with it, understanding filling his eyes. "Nice dress."

Michael shrugged. "He's off gambling."

"Someone should tell him the house always wins."

"Someone did," she said, dry, getting an appreciative flash of a smile from him that sent a _pulse_ through her. 

Another guest interrupted then, an older, balding gentleman in civilian dress who clapped Pike on the shoulder, good-natured. "Chris, good to see you."

"Lies," Pike shot back, getting a laugh, smiling as he guided Michael away from the throng, while also neatly extricating himself from having to make small talk. They took up position off to the side where they could see the center of the room, but were still somewhat apart from the milling crowd.

"What's going on?" Michael asked, nodding to the weapons. 

"It's part of the post-war Reconciliation project," he said, low enough to feel intimate, like it was just the two of them here. "Musicians are taking the weapons of war and turning them into instruments, playing at gatherings just like this all throughout Federation and Klingon territory."

"Transforming violence into beauty," Michael said, moved. 

"Exactly. In the end, a weapon is just another tool. What matters is our intention. We choose what we use these things for," he said, nodding to all the assembled weapons. 

The _rightness_ of that shivered through her, landing somewhere low. Michael looked up at him, unable to help her small smile, marveling a little. "This is what you do on your shore leave?" 

Pike tilted his head, owning it. "You caught me: true believer right here."

"To your credit," Michael murmured. The skin around Pike's eyes went soft at that, expression pleased, but before he could say anything, a blue-skinned Bolian stepped to the center of the room, raising her arms for quiet. She wore a form-fitting metallic gown, cut-outs revealing even more of her skin—using it to capture and hold attention. 

And it worked. The crowd quieted, all eyes trained on her. 

"We gather today in a spirit of peace, as a reminder that we decide what we do with our weapons and our voices. We decide to do better."

With that, she hefted the bat'leth, perching on a stool. She paused for a beat...and began to strum it like a kind of lyre, the notes delicate and vaguely haunting, reverberating in Michael's chest, mournful. They lingered heavy in the air as the Bolian began a song of loss, her voice rising and falling in concert with the bat'leth. 

Michael's throat went oddly tight as an unfamiliar wave of _feeling_ rushed through her. By her side, Pike noticed, shooting her a questioning look. "Michael?" he asked, concerned, too low for others to hear. 

Michael breathed in, realizing what it was: "The last time I saw a bat'leth I was using it to kill someone," she said, remembering the tang of adrenaline, the feeling of unforgiving metal in her hands. 

Delicate hands moving over a bat'leth brought the war back, even if those hands were the wrong color, deployed in beauty and not violence. All Michael could feel was the pain and shame and loss. Michael's eyes filled, wholly against her will, somehow right back where it all started, betraying Philippa, only to lose her entirely. 

Pike—no _Chris_ , her mind supplied— put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, fingertips comforting against her bare skin, grounding her in the present. Michael covered his hand with her own, holding it there, leaning into him as the song washed over her, reminded of all her failures, of all the pain she caused. 

She leaned on Chris...and _felt_. 

***

"I wonder what happened to your date," Chris mused, walking with her onto a turbolift, the ship quiet given the late hour. He hadn't brought up her emotional reaction to the music; he'd simply stood in silent support, for which she was grateful. 

Still, she frowned. Something had shifted in her back there and it wasn't just that he was now _Chris_ in her head, Pike somehow too impersonal, too distant. 

She didn't _want_ distant. 

"Hopefully he lost his shirt," Michael said, muted. The performance was over, but she could still hear it, the loss echoing through her. She could still feel Chris' fingers against her skin, steady and sure. 

Chris looked over with a small smile. "Teach him a lesson?"

"Sometimes you have to fail on your own terms to truly learn," she said, voice rough, thinking of Philippa again. 

The turbolift slowed, stopping at his floor. Chris looked at her, eyes heavy with _something_ as he nodded, slow. "Goodnight, Michael."

She watched the strong line of his shoulders as he walked away. It took everything in her not to follow. 

***

Now sparring? Sparring she could do. In fact, sparring seemed like the _perfect_ date given...everything. 

Michael circled Ensign Novak, noting the way he held himself too open, confidence in his size advantage making him reckless. 

"My dad put me in judo when I was three, so it's kinda been a lifelong passion of mine," he was explaining, curiously not studying how she was moving. 

"Is that right," Michael said, formulating a plan of attack. 

"Yeah, he thought it would be good for discipline," Novak continued, still making no move to start this. 

Well, if he needed some prompting...

Michael darted in, quick, feinting with a left kick. Novak startled, moving to block—

And Michael punched him in the face. 

Novak hissed, staggering away, holding his jaw. He looked back at her, covering with a smile. "Eh, I let you have that one."

Michael raised an eyebrow and motioned him on. "Let's see what else you'll let me have."

***

"Did you beat up Ensign Novak?" Tilly asked, joining her at breakfast. 

Michael speared a stalk of asparagus and chewed thoughtfully. "I reinforced for him that he should be training more." 

"Michael." 

Michael studied her. She seemed...disapproving?

"...what?" she asked, suddenly uncertain. The rules of sparring were very clear. Neither of them acted inappropriately for the forum. She didn't get why Tilly's brow was furrowed in disappointment. 

"Look, I know you're a badass and all, but you couldn't let him win?"

Michael blinked. "That's not the point of sparring."

"When it's a date, it's not _real_ sparring. It's, you know, sexy-foreplay sparring," she said, doing a little shimmy-type thing that Michael didn't understand at all. 

"I have no idea what that means," Michael said seriously.

Tilly sighed. "Sometimes you have to let guys be all manly, win the fight, whatever." 

"By definition they are men, so why would they need anything else to feel like...men?" Michael asked, mystified. 

"I'm not saying it's rational, but dating's about compromise," Tilly said, like this was a reasonable position to take. 

Michael did not think this was a reasonable position to take.

***

"Oh, I hope you wiped the floor with him," Chris said with relish, commiserating with her in a quiet moment after the briefing, when all the others had filtered out.

Michael shot him a _look_. "Sir."

"In fact, did the cameras catch it? I think I'd like to watch this." 

"There's no footage and even if there were, you shouldn't be enjoying your crewmen's pain."

"Fine, ruin my fun."

Michael sent him another quelling look, then returned to the point. "I just don't understand this idea that I should have let him beat me."

Chris nodded in agreement. "Nor should you. It's an attitude that was old two centuries ago—the idea that men must be dominant. It was destructive then and it's destructive now, though the insecurity it stems from has persisted under the surface."

"Insecurity," she parroted. 

Chris made a disapproving noise. "It boils down to zero-sum thinking. If you win, someone else loses. If you're brilliant, your opponent is deficient. It pits people against each other, undermining our community values. We wouldn't tolerate it on duty, but we can't control how people think when it comes to their personal lives."

Michael considered. "To be fair, he was deficient in sparring."

"Or he has room to grow and you were showing him areas of improvement," Chris offered. "Besides, anyone whose ego needs to be propped up by their partner taking a dive, well. That guy doesn't last long in battle."

Michael nodded. That was a fair point. 

"I get Tilly's instinct, but it's a little immature." His eyes held hers, something fierce in them. "You should never be with someone who needs you to be...less than what you are."

Something at the base of her spine curled in pleasure at his words, his look, his everything. Michael tried not to betray it on her face, nodding. "Thank you, Captain," she murmured, retreating before she gave too much away. 

She was in danger of doing that far too often these days. 

***

"It's just this way," Ensign Ventress said, leading her through the bowels of the ship, the lights glinting off his sandy blond hair as they walked. 

Michael frowned, not understanding what they were doing here. "This is your adventure," she said, unable to keep the dubious note from her voice. 

Ventress looked back and flashed a charming smile. "I know, I know. It seems weird. But you'll see."

A few strides later, he made a victorious noise and slowed, turning back to look at Michael from a partially-enclosed vestibule. "Here we go."

Michael took in the metal wall panels and exposed piping. "You take me to the nicest places," she said, dry. 

Ventress smiled and crouched down at the base of one of the walls, popping open the panel there to expose the inner wiring. Michael recognized the module he'd opened up—the gravity simulators. 

Her eyes widened when he started working the control unit loose. "What are you doing?"

"Disconnecting the controller," he said obviously, like this was no big deal.

Michael stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "That will disable the gravity simulators. We'll be—"

"Weightless?" he said, turning back to her with a cheeky grin. "Exactly. Our own little anti-grav chamber."

"Those are controlled environments. This isn't. You're talking about a breach of safety protocol."

Ventress waved that away as unimportant. "Please. This module only covers the maintenance area down here. It won't affect anyone else." He looked to her, blue eyes challenging. "Come on, weightless somersaults! It's fun." 

Ventress turned back to the controller—

And Michael stepped in, gripping his shoulder again, _hard_. 

"Move away from the panel, Ensign."

***

Tilly stomped into their room and just looked at her, hands on her hips. "People are starting to call you the fun police, you know."

"He wanted to disable a safety measure," Michael protested. She was in the right on this. 

"I don't understand," Tilly insisted. "Steve is smoking hot. He's hard to look at, he's so hot. How were you focusing on the rules and not how much you wanted to push him up against something?"

Michael looked at her askance. "I have never wanted to do that to anyone."

Tilly's eyes widened as she processed that, clearly struck by something. "Okay, let's pause and take a step back. You wanted Ash, right? Describe that to me."

Michael didn't see the relevance, but acquiesced: "I was...drawn to him. Intrigued. I admired the courage he displayed, his fortitude in persevering despite everything that had happened to him." Only to find out later it was all a lie or, at least, a part of the manipulation. Michael didn't mention that part. 

"Okay, and do you feel like that about anyone else?"

"Chris," she said immediately, then froze. 

Tilly blinked, scoffing a little. "Chris? Who the hell is—" Then it clicked, her eyes going wide. "Wait. Chris _Pike_? The captain?"

"I don't know why I said that," Michael muttered. Except she did know, didn't she? She knew it every time her interest piqued when he was around, like everyone else was fuzzy while he was always perfectly clear. 

Tilly's expression softened. "...I do. I guess I wasn't so far off with the puppy love."

Michael shook her head, not understanding what that meant.

Thankfully, Tilly got it, explaining, "It's like—innocent infatuation. Fixating on an older, remote, safe person so that there's no pressure. You can just...revel in the worship without getting hurt."

Michael swallowed. Her thoughts about Chris didn't feel _safe_. 

But that wasn't even the point. "It's not appropriate. He's _the captain_."

"I'll do you one better," Tilly offered, smiling a little. "When I was in high school, I was madly, head-over-heels in love with my math teacher. Like, _beyond_. I loved him and I loved numbers and it was all mixed up in this, like, magical nerd cauldron of bliss."

"What happened?" Michael asked, a little worried now. 

"I ran into him and his boyfriend at a coffee shop one day and my poor heart crumbled." Tilly made a dismissive gesture. "Then I got over it. I still send him cool math stuff, though. He's the best."

Tilly pulled herself out of the memory, looking to Michael with sympathy. "So yeah, of course it's the captain. He's, like, the noblest, most non-threatening hotass anyone could idolize. It makes total sense," she concluded. "You'll just have to work through it." 

"How—how do I 'work through it?'" Michael asked, curious despite herself. 

Tilly shrugged. "I dunno." She must have seen something unhappy in Michael at that because she rushed on to reassure her. "Look, tons of people get crushes on the captain. _Of course_. But it's Prince Charming, a fantasy. Once you emotionally accept that it's not real, then you'll be able to have an actual relationship." 

***

Michael quit dating after that. Tilly said there was no point, that she needed to feel her feelings. It sounded ridiculous, but...well, why not? If this was normal, she might as well experience it. 

So she stopped stopping herself. She let her eyes follow Chris when he left the room. She let her mind wander when his hands caught her attention. She reveled in the little thrill that zipped through her when his voice went rough, when he looked at her a little too long, when he half-smiled at a joke just between them.

Michael let herself...indulge in him. Maybe it was illogical or maybe it was necessary, whatever it was, she let go of the need to judge it. And she just... _felt_.

***

Michael sighed and sat back in the ready room chair, letting herself relax for once. "That's the last one," she said, setting her PADD aside. 

"Thank _God_." 

His fervor made Michael smile. She took him in, tired from a long day, but still focused, alert. Always trying to do his best for the crew. 

"You are released from my clutches until the next reporting cycle," Michael said, magnanimous. 

"The one thing Starfleet doesn't advertise about the command track: endless paperwork," Chris groused. Then he caught himself, swallowing any hint of complaint. He nodded her to the door. "You should go have your evening. I'm sure you have plans."

Michael made a noncommittal sound, which seemed to pique his interest. He looked at her, bemused. "You've been...different for the last few days. The dating's going well then?" Chris asked with a smile. 

Michael just watched him, sitting bathed in light, ever supportive. It was enough, she thought. He would let her down easy and she'd always have these warm memories of him to think back on. It was time. 

She smiled back. "The dating's not going at all."

Chris tilted his head. "I don't follow."

"Tilly told me there was no point. That I have a crush that I need to work through before I can have a real relationship. Puppy love, she calls it."

"I'm familiar," he murmured, something careful about his tone. "So you've been...working through it. Your crush."

Michael loosened the usual control she kept on herself, letting her affection show through. "I'm assured that it's common to have a crush on your captain. A rite of passage, really."

Understanding flashed over his expression, that ever-present warmth intensifying, before a little furrow formed between his eyes. He considered for a long moment, then half-shook his head. "Shelley Marshall," he said, a smile touching his lips. 

"Sir?"

"Shelley Marshall moved in next door when I was twelve and I swear, my world changed. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She had this long red hair, every inch of her covered in freckles. The way she would laugh..." He trailed off, smiling deeper at the memory. "Of course, she was seventeen, barely even knew I existed. Still, it broke my heart when she left for college. I was so in love."

Chris' gaze sharpened then, focusing back on Michael. "I loved Shelley Marshall, but I didn't _know_ Shelley Marshall. That's puppy love. It's _idealized_ , untethered from reality."

Chris studied her, blue eyes seeing everything. "Is that what you're feeling, Michael?" The low rumble of his voice, his _look_ , it all sent heat streaking through her, nothing she could help.

Michael swallowed, no idea how to answer. This wasn't proceeding as she'd expected. She hadn't thought he'd...question her. 

Chris took her lack of response as some kind of response and nodded, like that confirmed something for him. He stood, moving around his desk and resting a light hand on her shoulder, looking down at her. "Because I can tell you this: I _know_ you exist," he murmured, eyes searching her face. And with that enigmatic statement, he pulled his hand away, walked toward the door, and left her there. 

Reeling.

***

"Oh, shit." Tilly clapped a hand over her own mouth, guilt flashing over her face. "Sorry, sorry, I'm not supposed to curse, but—" She flailed a hand around, indicating Michael, their room, the whole situation. "If ever there was cause. Well, this and being held hostage in a dimension of sentient mushrooms. And landing in a parallel universe where I'm a mass murderer. Okay, there are a lot of causes, but for right now, this. Definitely curse-worthy."

Michael actually found Tilly's rambling a little soothing. The fluttery feeling of panic still plaguing her clearly wasn't irrational. 

"I don't understand why he didn't let me down gently. That's what he should've done, right? Someone's infatuated, you're kind about it, and they can move on."

"Um, right, except there's one thing I didn't quite consider." Michael looked expectantly at Tilly, motioning for her to go on. "Well, that he might like you back?"

"But that's not how you said puppy love works."

"Right, which is what I think he was saying. That this _isn't_ puppy love..." she trailed off. 

"Which would make it—"

"...Actual love?" Tilly offered, tentative. Her eyes widened at whatever she saw in Michael's face, so she hurried to continue: "Or...mutual attraction?"

Michael's heart beat faster, pounding in her ears, breath short. When it was just her, she could handle it. But reciprocation...that was something else entirely. Worse, Chris gave no indication what course of action was warranted now, if there even was one. What was she supposed to _do_ with this information?

Aside from that, the last time someone reciprocated her feelings, it ended in attempted murder. Along with heartbreak and misery and pain. 

So much pain. 

She knew that was a different situation...but it had started with _this_ feeling. This desire to be close, to be known, to be loved. And if the past few weeks had shown her anything, it didn't just go away. 

Even if she might want it to. 

Michael shook her head, confused. "What do I do?"

Tilly looked at her, wide-eyed. "I'm just gonna admit right now that I have not been the best wing-woman during all this so, uhh...what do you want to do?" 

***

Michael waited outside his quarters. She knew it was late and this was probably inappropriate. She also knew that the emotions roiling inside of her—uncertainty, fear, and beneath it all, that desire she could never shake—wouldn't be tamed until she talked to him. 

So here she was. 

Finally, the doors opened. Chris' eyes widened when she stepped through; he hadn't expected her. He was in sleep pants and a shirt, either about to go to bed or pulled from it. Michael tried to ignore the pulse of _want_ at that vulnerability, his feet bare on the rug. 

"Michael," he said, his voice betraying his surprise. 

Michael shook her head at him, the confusion surfacing first. She didn't _understand_. "You tried to help me date other people."

Chris blinked, seeming thrown. Then he shook it off. "To be fair, I mostly made fun of that," he said, wry. 

Michael narrowed her eyes at that evasion. 

Chris sobered, expression going earnest: "I tried to help you be happy."

"Since when," she asked, needing to know how long he'd been feeling...this. 

He seemed to get it, shrugging a little. "I don't have an exact date for you. I always felt...a pull."

Heat flashed through her at that. It was exactly what the base part of her wanted to hear—that he felt it, too, that the yearning hadn't been hers alone. Underneath that was the satisfaction—he _wanted_ her. That knowledge made her fingertips tingle, senses suddenly heightened. 

For once she didn't ignore it, marching right up to him, _into_ his space; he didn't react at all, simply watched her do it, letting her lead. 

Emboldened by that, Michael leaned into him and met his mouth in a kiss. 

Chris hesitated for a moment—she could feel the tension in his body—and then he gave in, his lips moving over hers, careful, almost tentative. 

Michael brought a hand to his cheek, opening her mouth against his, deepening the kiss. Chris groaned and responded, tongue slipping into her mouth, making her blood race, a rush of _feeling_ zipping through her, lightning fast. Yes, _this_ is what had been missing from all those dates, the shivery want that made her feel both scattered and perfectly focused, like he was the question and answer all at the same time. 

Michael swayed into him, getting a hand in his hair, pulling him closer. Kissing him harder. Maybe this was the answer, embracing her desire, fully experiencing it. She'd spent so long lecturing herself not to think of the captain in this context...maybe that had been the problem. Tilly was always talking about the joys of basic sexual gratification. Maybe Michael had been overcomplicating what was really very simple: she wanted him, he wanted her, that was enough. 

With a soft noise, Chris broke away, cheeks flushed, eyes dilated. "Okay, we should probably take a breather on that."

Michael followed his mouth, making a negative noise and drawing him into another kiss. That honeyed want had sharpened, circling through her with intent now. She wanted his hands on her, in her, the feel of him everywhere. Chris' tongue tangling with hers lit up nerve endings she hadn't felt in ages, they couldn't stop.

But then he tried to pull away again. Michael squeezed the back of his neck, keeping him close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. "What?"

"It's a new idea," he breathed against her mouth, clearly reluctant. "It'll keep."

"It doesn't have to," she said, low and husky, nipping at his bottom lip, then kissing him again as she shifted her body against his, feeling his interest. She pressed her hips into his, a deliberate tease. 

It tore a ragged groan from his throat. Like _that_ , all his hesitance disappeared. His arms went tight around her, clutching her close, mouth urgent and fierce. Michael returned the kiss, just as fervent, nudging him toward the bedroom. 

As they moved, Michael slipped her hands underneath his shirt, fingernails raking down his back, eliciting a delicious moan. She pulled the shirt up and off when they made it to the bed, lightly shoving him down onto it and climbing on top of him. 

Chris took her in, eyes wide, like he couldn't believe this was happening as she settled herself on his thighs, unzipping her uniform jacket and tossing it aside. He sat up, pulling their bodies close again, his hands settling on her hips, mouth finding hers. 

Michael got swept up in the sheer feeling of it, her skin sparking everywhere he touched, the hot tangle of their mouths consuming all her focus until there was nothing but him—kissing him, hands mapping the planes of his body, all his coiled strength underneath her. Michael broke away, pulling her shirt up and off, needing to be naked with him, _now_. 

Chris ran his hands down her sides, soothing. "Hey, we have time," he said, voice low and gravelly and making her blood run hot. 

She shifted up, repositioning herself so she could grind down against his very hard cock, making him groan, helpless. "You were saying," she murmured into his mouth. 

"Not playing fair," he muttered, hips lifting up of their own volition. 

"Naked. Now," she ordered. He complied instantly, both of them scrambling out of the rest of their clothes, then crashing together again, skin on skin making everything that much better, the two of them flushed and sweating as they traded sloppy kisses, Michael pushing him back against his pillows and climbing over him again. 

"Michael," he breathed, hands trailing over her hips and down her thighs, so close to exactly where she wanted him. 

Michael got a hand on his cock, stroking him, firm, leaning forward to catch his mouth and swallow the desperate noise he made. She didn't give him time to recover, just lifted herself up, positioned him, and sank down onto his cock with a satisfied moan. The stretch was _perfect_ , pleasure firing through every nerve ending, lighting her up as she took him all the way in. 

Chris gripped her hips, the skin around his eyes going tight as he breathed out, staring at her, eyes glassy and dark. 

Michael leaned in and kissed him again, soft. "You feel so good," she whispered, clenching around him, making his eyes flutter closed. She gripped the headboard behind him and used it to lever herself up, then sink back down, both of them crying out at the feeling. 

Then it was the slap of skin on skin as Michael rode him, Chris pulling her down sharply, everything hot and fast and full. Michael lost herself in it, pleasure coiling through her, down her spine, until her muscles trembled. 

Chris gasped her name over and over again, like a prayer, and that somehow made it better, like she wasn't alone in this out of control feeling spiraling through her. 

He pressed a hand between them, fingers playing over her perfectly, and that's when she lost it, head thrown back as everything went tight and white-hot, shuddering uncontrollably as she came, calling out his name. 

Chris groaned into the skin of her throat, jerking inside her, his other hand gone tight on her hip, like he never wanted to let go. 

Michael panted, feeing the sweat behind her knees, residual tremors still moving through her. She gathered herself, prying her hands from the headboard, looking down into his hazy eyes.

His hand on her cheek made her breath catch, something different in his gaze now. He drew her down to him, gentle. 

The kiss was sweet, their lips clinging. 

Michael broke it, startled without knowing why. She sucked in a breath, pulling back. But she lost the thread of it, her body making itself known again. She lifted herself off him, muscles past exhausted, then sank down by his side. As she drifted, she thought she heard him moving, but then the darkness closed in and she knew nothing more. 

***

Michael woke, abrupt. Something was wrong. The room was too quiet, she should be able to hear Tilly—

And then it all slammed back to her.

She tensed, feeling the shift of the sheets over her naked body. Chris must have gotten them under the covers. She looked over, finding him curled on the other side of the bed, his naked back rising and falling with his deep, even breaths. 

She realized suddenly that she'd synced her breathing with his, in and out, in and out—

The intimacy of it struck her. Sex and sleeping together were two different things. The sex was good—no, the sex was _great_ —she understood that. The desire to stay right here, where she could feel him next to her, breathe in concert with him...that was troubling. 

She'd gotten laid, as Tilly so often reminded her she should, but the... _need_ for him hadn't gone away. Michael breathed in, sharp, as she realized that her hypothesis had been wrong. Fully experiencing this wasn't the answer; the physical was part of it, but not all. 

And on the heels of that came a rush of fear. Michael swallowed against it, but she couldn't shake it. 

She needed to get out. 

***

Of course Tilly stirred as soon as Michael walked into their room, no matter how quiet she tried to be. Her sleepy eyes took one look at Michael, widened, and she sat bolt upright. 

"Holy crap," she said, overloud. 

Michael winced. "I know."

"You look—" Tilly squinted at her, rubbing her eyes, like she needed to double check. "Yeah, no, you definitely look rode hard and put away wet."

Michael flinched again. She headed for her bed, trying to move past this. "I'm tired, Tilly."

But Tilly was fully awake now, awareness filtering into her expression as she put the pieces together. "You snuck out, didn't you?"

Michael didn't respond, but Tilly seemed to know anyway. "Michael..."

"I needed some space."

"Was it that bad or that good?" Tilly asked, shrewd. 

Michael sent a quelling glance her way, but Tilly seemed to be able to see right through her, staring in horror. "And you _left_?"

This was...unacceptable. Michael needed to get a handle on herself and stop showing everything. She had better control than this. 

Trying to pick up the pieces of that control, Michael sank down onto her bed, feeling the echo of Chris inside her. "It was... _more_ than I thought."

Tilly's eyebrows rose. "Literally every straight woman on board is jealous of you right now and none of them know why."

"Not like that," Michael said. Then she corrected herself: "Not only like that. Can we just...can we not talk about this right now?"

Tilly studied her for another beat and then nodded. She snuggled back down into her bed, watching as Michael curled up in her own, not bothering to change. She just...needed to think for a while. 

"I think I figured out what the problem was," Tilly said into the silence, like an offering. "Why you couldn't be bothered with any of those other guys. It's because you need an intellectual attraction. Which, I mean, makes total sense. You're so freaking cerebral, of course you'd have to, like, _respect their minds_ before you want to hop into bed with them."

Michael heard the real message loud and clear— _you respect him, what are you doing here?_

"Yeah," Michael said, short. 

Tilly sighed, not getting the response she wanted. "I'm going back to sleep now, but I leave you with this food for thought: if you shy away from everyone you don't respect and then you also shy away from everyone you do, that leaves Michael a lonely bear. And you deserve better."

With that, she pulled the covers up and turned over, leaving Michael to her thoughts. 

If only Michael knew how to reconcile the want she felt with the fear of it. 

***

Michael probably should have expected the door chime early the next morning, but she thought he'd give her some time. 

Tilly looked over at her as she threw on her uniform jacket, eyes saying this was on her, before calling out, "Come."

Chris entered—in full uniform, no hair out of place, _gorgeous_ —eyes zeroing in on Michael immediately. He looked like he'd taken a hit and was still shaking it off. 

"I'm gonna go have an early breakfast and not come back for hours and hours," Tilly said to no one, beating a quick retreat, shooting Michael a meaningful look before the doors closed behind her. 

Michael stayed seated on her bed, pulling her feet under her. She still wore her clothes from last night. She still _smelled like him_. 

Chris took a small step and reached a hand out, placing something on the end of her bed. 

Her underwear. She hadn't been able to find it in her rush to leave. 

Michael felt herself flush, her mind instantly going to Chris sliding it off her, the heat between them. The want. 

"I'm sorry," she said into the silence. 

Chris tilted his head at her, eyes piercing. "Why are you sorry?"

Michael swallowed, firming her resolve. He deserved at least this: "I wanted some space, but I should have told you. Leaving that way was...an immature emotional response."

Something around his eyes eased. He sighed and sat down on the other end of the bed, seeming tired. "Did space help?"

Michael shook her head, low-grade fear still there, all mixed up with the desire that curled through her every time he was near. Even now she wanted to crawl over and push him back on the bed, let the heat of them burn her worries away. 

If only that were possible.

"Is there anything I can do?" He seemed genuinely lost. She wasn't used to that from him, usually so sure of himself. 

"I need to...reflect," she said, knowing it wasn't what he wanted to hear. 

But Chris simply nodded, accepting that. He stood, straightening, ever correct. "I'm here if you want to talk." He smiled then, a whisper of a thing, but still there, kind like he always was. Then he turned and walked out, his spine stiff. 

It still took everything in Michael not to follow.

***

Things were different after that. Not on the surface, of course. On the surface, Chris was as professional as ever, soliciting her input, deferring to her ideas, including her, just like always. 

But the warmth was gone or, at least, shuttered behind an impressive mask. He didn't smile at her the way he used to, he didn't make the wry jokes, he didn't ask her to stay behind. He was utterly appropriate and respectful and correct and she _missed him_. 

"So go tell him that," Tilly insisted, watching her with those worried eyes of the last few days. 

"I don't know what to tell him _after_ that."

"But isn't that it? Isn't that what matters?"

That struck Michael. Was it?

***

Michael waited outside his quarters, no longer swamped in the confusion of just a few days before. Still wanting, though. That never seemed to change. 

After a moment the doors slid open, granting her entrance. 

Chris looked over from the couch, mug in hand. Michael could smell the slight hint of chocolate in the air. The thought of him sitting here, drinking his mom's hot chocolate and contemplating the universe outside made something clench in Michael's chest. 

"Michael," he said, a pleased note hidden in it. 

The rush of relief was unexpected, but welcome. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"You're not. Please." He gestured for her to join him, so like that first night, weeks ago. 

Likely thinking the same thing, Chris held up his mug. "I can make you some."

"I'm okay," Michael said, sitting on the other end of the couch, tentative. 

Chris studied her. "Are you?"

Michael took a single calming breath, centering herself, then turned and met his eyes. "I should be asking you that." Chris raised an eyebrow in question, so Michael continued. "It occurred to me that I treated you like one of those dates, didn't I?" she said quietly. "Like someone who just wanted to sleep with you."

"Little bit," he said lightly, not that that made it better. 

Michael frowned. "I am sorry for that. I wanted you and I let that drive things rather than—I got ahead of myself. And then I got...unnerved."

Chris nodded, eyes soft, understanding. "Apology accepted." 

"You're not surprised," Michael said, a little surprised herself. 

"I suspected, but it's good to hear your take on it."

Right, he saw far more than she expected, she needed to remember that. Michael shook her head a little. "You tried to slow things down. I should've listened." 

He half-shrugged. "Hey, I was right there with you. If I wanted to stop, I could have."

"But I'm the one who pushed," she said. Chris tilted his head, not refuting that. 

"Why did you?" he asked, like that was what nagged at him. 

Michael shook her head. "Tilly's always talking about sex." Chris huffed out a little laugh, like he couldn't help himself. Michael smiled in answer, then continued, serious: "I thought my attraction to you might be...confusing things in my head."

Chris watched her, his mind working through that. He _hmmed_. "And you're not confused anymore."

Michael swallowed the tightness in her throat. "You have to understand, the last time I felt like this...it didn't end well."

The skin around Chris' eyes tensed. "I'm not him, Michael," he said, quiet. 

"You're not," she confirmed. "I know you're not. I only say that to...explain."

Chris nodded, his gaze going so soft. "I understand." He sighed and turned his body toward her more fully. "I don't want to scare you, Michael."

"I know it's not your intention. That's my issue to deal with."

Chris cocked his head. "Do I hear present tense in that?"

Michael tipped her head at him, acknowledging his perceptiveness. "I came here to apologize but also to say...I want to try." She shook her head a little, gesturing to herself, heart pounding in her chest. "Tilly's not wrong about this. I'm a Vulcan-gifted emotional mess. I don't even know why you'd—"

Chris grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Hey." His eyes were so bright. 

Her gut clenched at his expression, something like relief sweeping through her, light. 

"I have blind spots," she warned, but even she could hear it was weak, wanting. 

Chris turned his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "We all do. We'll just have to keep an eye out for each other."

***

This time, it was worlds different. They reveled in the heat between them, but it was more than that, too, so much _feeling_ in Chris' eyes. And Michael didn't shy away from it, clinging to him as he _worshipped_ her body—with his touch, with his mouth, discovering every little place that made her shiver. 

He made her tremble until she couldn't stop, until all she could do was whisper _Chris, please_ over and over again. 

Finally, he relented, moving up her body to kiss her again, deep, intertwining their fingers as he pushed into her, torturously slow. He stared into her eyes, dipping down to lick at her mouth as he finally seated himself. 

"You're perfect," he murmured into her mouth, holding still, just _feeling_. 

Michael wrapped her legs around him, contracting her internal muscles, goading. "More," she said, biting at his bottom lip. 

Chris' laugh slid over her slick skin like a prayer, followed by a thrust so slow it made her claw at his back, the pleasure of it sparking up her spine. He did it again and again, deliberately torturous, until Michael snapped, unable to take it anymore. 

She gripped his hips with her legs and rolled them so she could sit astride him, sighing as she sank down an inch further, in control now. 

This time when she rode him, their hands were intertwined on his chest, Chris smiling at her as she took her pleasure. When he kissed her it was playful, teasing. When she started to get close, that delicious tension suffusing her, he rolled them again, driving into her hard and steady, like he knew exactly what she wanted. 

Michael moaned into his mouth as he pressed one of her legs higher, thrusting deeper, that tension coiling within her. His fingers slipped between them as he breathed into her mouth, murmuring her name and _perfect_ and _beautiful_ over and over until that white-out bliss washed over her, everything going hot and remote as her orgasm consumed her. 

Shaking, halting breaths later, Chris pulled out and settled beside her. Michael tried to even out her breathing, slow her racing heart. It didn't work very well. "...wow," she eventually managed. 

Chris laughed and rolled toward her, curling an arm over her waist, his hand stroking her back. She half-shut her eyes, marveling at how that simple a thing felt so good. Right. _Necessary_.

Chris smiled a little, arm tightening around her. "Hey. You still with me?"

Michael opened her eyes and brought a hand to his face, touching the corner of his smile. "Yeah. I'm with you."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
